


Wildheart

by KivaEmber



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Accidental kidnapping, Injury, Male Viera, More Tags Will Be Added As Story Goes On, Multi, Pre-ARR, Viera WoL, lore bending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: Bran falls out of a tree and lands on a smuggler's horse cart full of illicit contraband.Or;How a male Viera dancer becomes the Warrior of Light.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Bran stared at his dark reflection on the pondside and wondered if there had been some sort of mistake.

It had only been a few months since he was taken away from his village by Vala, a stern, intensely quiet man that had collared him as the last of the bucks for this season. Bran had protested – he didn’t want to leave the village, leave his friends, and live in total _isolation_. Bran loved people, absolutely adored socialising, and after spending so much time with a man who barely _spoke_ to him was driving him up the wall.

There had to be a mistake. There was _no way_ Bran was meant to be here.

He plucked at a few stout reeds stubbornly pushing up from the bank, ripping the stems apart in a fullblown sulk. Winter was starting to creep in, and normally Bran would be inside, practising his dancing and singing for the upcoming festival, but instead he was shivering in the woods somewhere, hungry and aching and _irritable_.

Maybe that was why Vala was grumpy all the time? Bran had tried sleeping in those trees and the branches were _not nice_ for one’s back.

There was a way to make it comfortable, though. Vala had shown him a lot of things already: how to forage for the right berries, where to dig for the best roots, the most effective way to take down a bird in flight, or a charging boar, how to build a nest amongst the tree branches and were to put said nest so you didn’t wake up to a faceful of rain…

Not to say Bran could _do_ those things yet, but Vala had shown him.

Bran sighed and dropped the shredded reeds into the pond. He’d sat here hoping to collect some fresh water, but its surface was scummy, green with algae, and he even saw a dead fish floating in it at one point – he was thirsty, but he knew enough to know that _that_ would just make him sick.

So, he climbed to his feet, shouldering his small, beginner’s bow and travel pack and moved on. Vala had left him here, with vague directions, and told him to meet him at the forest’s edge where the river fed into it. Bran had _no idea_ where that was, and all Vala told him was to listen to the Green Voice.

The forest. Well, Bran was listening but the forest sure wasn’t speaking.

“I want to go home,” he whispered to himself, feeling his eyes sting and his stomach clench with homesickness. He thought about Ma, who had been extremely hesitant to let him go, had even tried to argue that he hadn’t fully flourished into a _real_ buck yet, give him a few more years. Who had tried not to cry when she told him goodbye, and left his pack heavy with walnut bread. That had been gone within a week.

But the rules were the rules, apparently. Bran was already older than he should be leaving the village, as he was already a few years into puberty. Most bucks left just before that.

Bran shook his head and climbed a nearby tree, to let the hard task of finding footholds on the slippery bark distract him from his thoughts. It was stupid – whether or not it was a mistake, he was here now, so he had to suck it up and just live with it. Well, that’s what Vala told him, but Ma always said Bran was stubborn as oak.

He _wasn’t_ going to suck it up. Bran wasn’t even _interested_ in guarding the woods by himself. He wanted to dance, to shine bright under his friends’ enjoyment of his art – but dancing wasn’t a buck’s thing, apparently. Well, Bran’ll show them!

Anger, passionate anger, always came easy to Bran. He let the heat of it carry him to the top of the tree, then nimbly travelled amongst its branches, moving from tree to tree with the ease of any forest-born Viera. It was a bit like dancing – moving with the swaying limbs, placing your feet perfectly, just so, shifting your balance… Bran let it carry him, on and on, losing himself in the movements of the dancing trees until there were no more branches left to carry him forwards.

He stopped, startled out of the calm he’d sank into, just about catching himself before he leapt off the branch and into a sharp drop that would’ve most definitely broken an ankle. He squatted on the thick branch he was on, nestled amongst thick leave that were already beginning to yellow, and stared out.

The edge of the forest. Bran had only seen it a few times – Vala had brought him, told him of the dangers that lingered out there, the dangers it _brought_. There were terrible men out there, Vala had said, Iron Men, who brought with them axes and fire to burn and steal trees and land. Lots of people fled to the outskirts of their woods when that happened to them, but the Viera chased them away. The woods couldn’t sustain them, but Bran still found it a bit sad. He wondered where those people were now.

Bran wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring out at the open, undulating plain stretching away from the forest. But it was long enough that he started to doze… until he heard the creak of wooden wheels.

Wheels?

He jerked away, almost tumbling off his branch. The leaves rustled violently, and hushed voices rose up below him – he froze.

“What was that?” A hoarse voice. Man.  

“Just a squirrel,” a softer voice. Woman, “Relax.”

“You know the dangers of being this close to the Greenwood,” the man said, “I don’t want to be feathered with arrows from angry rabbits.”

The woman just sighed, and Bran slowly eased his limbs out of their locked tension. He couldn’t see through the thick layer of leaves to the ground below, but his ears caught sounds of movement, creaking of wood, and the snort of a horse. A… cart? Two people, and a horse. Were they refugees?

This would be where Bran was meant to chase them away, but he was curious. He’d never seen anyone but Viera. What would…

Silently, he wriggled forwards on the branch. It dipped and wobbled under his weight, but the leaves remained quiet, and he found a good spot where he could peer through to the ground below. His earlier assessment was correct, there were two people and a horse cart, but they didn’t look like refugees.

The man was big and broad-shouldered, more muscle than person, with greyish blue skin. He looked three times Bran’s height and weight, and he was fairly certain his hands could wrap around the entirety of his skull! His ears were also very small, mostly hidden under a thick mane of black hair, his face bristling with a bushy beard. He was also in thick armour that would easily deflect Bran’s arrows, and a large, wide sword strapped to his hip.

Warily, Bran looked at the woman. Her ears were more normal, but they were small and pointed, like a cat’s, with a long bushy tail. She also wasn’t as armoured, but she was wearing chainmail with large, round blades dangling from her curvy hips. She was unhitching the horse, letting it move away from the cart enough to properly graze.

The cart itself… there was a dark tarp thrown over it, but Bran could see something underneath on the corner. Like… crates?

“We’ll rest up for an hour,” the catwoman said, “Then push on to Dalmasca.”

“I still don’t know how you’re going to get this through the gates,” the man sighed, “The Imperials have been very strict on their inspections lately.”

“Why, Bleifolg,” the woman turned to the man with a smile, “Do you doubt my abilities?”

“I do if there’s a chance I’ll be shuffled off to an Imperial prison,” ‘Bleifolg’ said irritably, “I’ve heard stories.”

“We’ve _all_ heard stories,” the catwoman said dismissively, “We’ll get it through, don’t worry. Trust me.”

“Every time you say that, something goes wrong,” Bleifolg sighed.

Bran leaned back, frowning in curiosity. Dalmasca? That was… the city. He knew some Viera travelled there, when they wanted to see more of the world – truth be told, Bran was tempted to go himself, but at his age? He wouldn’t survive the trip. He was too young.

Still. He eyed the pair beneath him wistfully. Maybe one day, he could go, become a dancer there. He could see it now… he would learn so much, make so many friends, be bright and shining and amazing!

So caught up in his fantasising, Bran didn’t notice the branch straining until it was too late. With his weight so far forwards to look at the pair below, the branch had started to crack, bit by bit, until it finally reached a breaking point. The only warning he got was a quiet _‘crk’_ then his stomach bottoming out as he found himself tumbling forwards into thin air.

He, understandably, shrieked-

-then _yowled_ when he landed _hard_ on something solid and unrelenting, a shock of white-hot pain travelling through his body until he was gasping from it. There was something yelling at him, though he felt so dizzy, his entire left side throbbing as he sprawled, awkwardly, over something lumpy with sharp corners, that he had no idea what was being said to him.

“-told you about the rabbits!”

“Shut up Bleifolg! I think he’s hurt-”

“Well, yeah, because he landed on _the weapons_ from a sixty fulm drop _-_ ”

“Uuuugh,” he groaned, and the noises stopped, “Owww…”

“Oh damn, hey,” the woman’s voice floated through his fuzzy brain, and he felt strong hands carefully start pulling him off the lumpy thing he was lying on, “Hey, c’mon. Up you get- oh shit, you’re a kid.”

“Whaaa…?” he slurred, his feet hitting a grassy floor, kept upright only by a hand on his upper arm. The pain throbbing through him was going numb, and his left arm dangled limply. He landed right on it, and there was a clear, detached part of his brain that said ‘ _broken, definitely broken, oh Vala is going to flip’_.

“Rahni,” the man sighed, “Don’t.”

“I’m just going to help him,” Rahni grumbled.

Bran wobbled on his feet, uncertain on what was going on, but he found himself slowly being guided to sit on the floor, propped up against a tree. The catwoman floated into his vision, her face set in a concerned frown. This close he could see the dark markings on her face, blending almost completely against her brown skin, her eyes amber with huge, round pupils. Bran stared groggily at them.

“Looks like you broke your arm there,” the woman, ‘Rahni’ said, “You hurt anywhere else, kid?”

“Uh…” Bran marshalled his dazed thoughts, sucking in a breath when sharp pain lanced through his collarbone, “E-Everywhere.”

“You did hit the cart pretty hard…” Rahni muttered.

“Just toss a potion at him and let’s go,” Bleifolg said antsily, “We don’t want the rabbits thinking we hurt him.”

“Shut up, Bleifolg,” Rahni snapped, turning to glare at the looming man, “I’m not leaving an injured kid on the roadside.”

“ _Rahni_.”

Rahni turned back to him, ignoring Bleifolg, “Hey, kid, you still with me?”

“Nnh…”

“Damn,” Rahni cursed, but she was sounding like she was underwater, which was weird, “Okay, this is more than a potion fix.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Well, hmm… the next stop is the village, right? There should be…”

“…n’t take him away…”

“…ut him back…”

Bran struggled to follow, but the voices sounded further away, the dizziness reaching a peak. Forget a broken arm, he must’ve hit his head too. Ruptured something? It was getting harder to think, and he was vaguely aware of someone picking him up, gingerly laying him on the lumpy, hard thing from before.

“We should get there in twenty minutes,” Rahni was saying, sounding muffled, “We’ll put him back after, so c’mon, let’s go!”

“Ugh, we’re gonna regret this, I can feel it!”

And that was the last Bran remembered before unconsciousness took him – and the last he ever saw of his woods.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was well into the afternoon when Vala became worried.

He had expected Bran to take a while to navigate himself to the rendezvous point. He was scattered-brained yet also stubborn, especially if he was in a sulky mood, so Bran would’ve either gotten lost or intentionally dragged his feet. But Bran never _directly_ disobeyed him, so the fact that four hours had passed for a simple hour long journey filled Vala with concern.

He shouldn’t have encountered any problems – the area he dropped Bran was free from dangerous predators, and for all of his ditziness, the boy was no fool either. He would know to dart into the trees, and he was _graceful_ and _swift_ once he was amongst the gentle embrace of the leaves. Nothing would catch Bran when he was in full flight.

Unless something caught him _before_ he could run…

It was that thought that had prompted him to return to the location he dropped Bran at rapid speed. From there, he easily tracked the boy’s path – his footprints left heavy indentions in the soft, loamy forest floor, and it was clear where he climbed the tree, small scratch marks from his claws cutting into the bark, broken twigs and crushed leaves… he would have to teach Bran to hide his traces a bit better once he found him.

The trail led him all the way to the edge of the forest and a broken branch.

Vala stared down at the sharp drop – sixty fulms, fine for a grown Viera, but for a buck as young as Bran, it would break a leg if he landed wrong. He half-expected to see the boy sprawled out on the ground, either dead or unconscious, but there was nothing there – nothing, but the thick, obvious tracks of a loaded cart.

Unease rose in him.

There were no dangerous predators in this area of the woods, but _outside_ it…

Vala climbed down, landing in a low crouch at the base of the tree. He could see disturbance in the thin grass and churned up soil – the broken branch, cart tracks, foot prints – flat-footed, one set large (Roegadyn) the other smaller, a female Hyur or Miqo’te, at his guess, hoofprints and… none of Bran but, his scent lingered, and there, dotting the grass around the footprints…

 _Blood_.

Not a lot. A little, but even a little was too much for Vala’s comfort.

He rose to his feet, indecisive. It wasn’t rare, for a buck to be lost before they reached adulthood. It was a hard life, growing up in isolation from the village, and there were some, gentle like Bran, who weren’t cut out for it. Most had already pegged Bran as one of the few who would not make it to adulthood; it was why he had been passed over for so long, before Vala finally claimed him. Vala did not baulk from difficult cases.

So, no one would bat an eye, if he returned to the village in the coming Spring looking for a new buck. They would assume Bran had been too weak to make it, but it would have been from Vala’s own failings. He couldn’t stomach that.

Vala should have kept a closer eye on him. Perhaps checked in on him every thirty minutes – maybe even followed him. Bran’s awareness was poor, something Vala had planned on improving after he learned the basics of surviving in the field, but he thought this little adventure might boost his confidence in his own survival skills, so left him alone. He had hoped…

He could imagine what had happened. Bran was soft and gentle, and would have no doubt been curious about strangers visiting the edge of the forest. Perhaps he watched them, fell out of the tree (perhaps attacked while in the tree?), and was scooped up by opportunistic predators. Male Viera were a rare breed that many unsavoury animals would love to get their hands on, for horrific, abominable reasons.

Vala clenched his fists, decision made. Quickly noting the direction of travel the prints and cart tracks were going, he followed them at a loping run. Gentle and weak, Bran may be, but Vala would _not_ allow the boy to suffer a fate worse than death, because of his failure.

He _will_ get him back.

* * *

Bran woke up feeling like he’d tumbled out of a tree and hit every branch on the way down.

“ _Owwwww_ …” he groaned, his brain feeling like mush as he squinted his eyes open. A dark, wooden ceiling met his gaze, and he stared at it blankly for a long moment, wondering when forests had ceilings. Wait, they _didn’t_ , so he was…

It came to him then: the two strangers, the broken branch, a blinding, white pain then-

“Oh, no!” he yelped, lurching upright – and very nearly retching when his stomach practically turned inside out from the abrupt movement. His head swam, and he clamped a hand against his temple, as if to steady it, but… what? He felt something like soft cloth beneath his palm, and his other arm…

He looked down, blinking through the spots in his vision to see it bound and strapped against his chest. Right, he broke that, hadn’t he? And… hit his head, he must’ve. So, did… was he _home_? Back in the village? He knew if bucks were hurt bad enough under their guardian’s care, they could be taken back for treatment, so...

But the room looked all wrong. Bran warily looked about him – a simple room, very small, with square windows and dark, heavy curtains half-drawn. He was on a bed, quite low to the ground, with simple white, coarse sheets, and a chair next to it. Aside from that it didn’t have anything in the way of greenery or decorations. It just didn’t… _look_ like a Viera home should.

Those two strangers… Bran felt like he’d been doused in ice cold water. Had they _taken_ him?

Fear rising like a physical lump in his throat, he fought through the dizziness to inch his way to the edge of the bed. His knees felt wobbly, but he stood up with little difficulty, breaths rasping in his throat as he shuffled to the door. Vala told him how people from outside the forest could kidnap Viera, sometimes. He was hoping they… they had only taken him to give him medical attention, and will take him back if he asked nicely.

“He… hello?” he whispered as he nudged the room’s door open. It led into a dark corridor. His ears twitched, and he caught the sound of muffled chatter (outside?) and low voices talking in the next room. He dithered, unsure if he should stay or if he should jump out of the window and run away. But… run away to where? He didn’t know where he was. How far they travelled. Which _direction_ … oh no. Oh no no no, he was so lost, wasn’t he?

Vala was going to be _mad_.

Bran bravely forged onwards. He crept down the corridor, his toe claws making tiny _‘tpt tpt tpt’_ noises against the hard, wooden floorboards, until he was at the door where the talking was coming from. His ears twitched, and he listened…

_“…n’t expect an Imperial patrol this far out.”_

_“Think someone tipped them off about…?”_

_“Probably. Ugh, shit, hopefully they won’t come_ into _the village.”_

_“What about the rabbit boy? If they’re this close, we can’t waste time bringing him back. We might have to-”_

_“We’re not abandoning him in the village! Our gil might’ve covered his injuries, but I know some fucko would try and sell him-”_

Bran jumped when a bang echoed through the room. Another door – outside door? He went still, listening, and the voices were talking to someone else. They sounded agitated.

_“The Imperials are coming into the village. They say they’re hunting nearby dissidents, and…”_

_“Twelve damn it! Fucking_ freedom fighters _shitting everything up as usual!”_

_“Rahni-”_

_“I know. I’ll grab the rabbit boy.”_

Bran scrambled back from the door when he heard footsteps coming his way, but was too slow as the door was wrenched open before he could dart out of sight – revealing a broad-shouldered Catwoman staring down at him with large, amber eyes. She looked startled, then amused, her mouth curling into a lopsided grin.

“Oh, looks like rabbit boy’s up already!” she said, “Okay, we’ve gotta go. You ready?”

“Wha-?” Bran squeaked out, unable to formulate a coherent reply as the woman snagged his good arm and started dragging him forwards. He almost stumbled over his feet, wildly looking around him as his head throbbed from pain. A large man in armour was frowning at them both, and an old, hunched over man with wispy white hair was staring at him while wringing his hands together.

“He’s still injured,” the Old Man said, “You can leave him here and we’ll take him back-”

“Ha, ha, ha. I’ve heard _that_ one before,” Rahni sneered, “No way. We’ll be taking him.”

“Thanks for your services,” the large, armoured man said – Bleifolg, Bran remembered dazedly, still too bewildered to understand what was going on.

Rahni just marched on, and Bran could only helplessly follow after her. They left the room – into outside, and Bran almost flinched at the bright, open sky above him. It was dark blue, incoming dusk, and something in him twisted at seeing such an open sky with no tree cover sheltering him. Where were the trees? There were _no trees_?

“C’mon,” Rahni muttered, dragging him along, “We don’t have time for you to gape.”

“Rahni, the kid’s in shock,” Bleifolg chided, following on their heels, “Slow down.”

“Yeah, I’ll slow down long enough to get trussed by a surprise Imperial patrol,” Rahni drawled, “Look, we’ll get out of here first, and _then_ slow down. We’ve gotta get ahead of the patrol and try to circle back to the woods.”

Bleifolg just grunted.

Bran stayed quiet, his eyes darting about as much as his dizziness would allow. He was in a village in some kind, but it looked incredibly _weird_ , because it was on flat, open ground, with only a few trees here and there, and completely _deserted_. Where were the villagers? And, what was that distant noise? Like, cracking and rumbling thunder…?  

Rahni seemed immune to the weirdness, guiding them to a wooden building that stank of horse – outside it was the cart he vaguely remembered landing on, the horse already hitched up. There was a young man standing next to the cart, looking terrified.

“Uh, I-I have the cart ready,” he stammered, “The, um, the Imperials, though-”

“Yeah, we know,” Rahni said brusquely. She dug a hand into her pocket, and flicked a fat, gold coin in the man’s direction. He caught it with a desperation that didn’t match his fear, “Go home and keep your head down.”

“Yes, of course!” the man yelped, and then he was racing off.

Bleifolg immediately moved to the front of the cart, but Rahni just stood in place, frowning in the middle distance for a very long moment. Bran didn’t dare break the silence, frozen in place out of bewildered fear. He had no idea what was happening, what these two’s intentions were for him. What should he even do? Break free? Stay? Go?

He didn’t know. Abruptly, with a lump in his throat, he wanted Vala. While he was quiet and very intense and probably didn’t like him all that much, Vala would know what to do. He’d…

“Kid,” Rahni said abruptly, “What’s your name?”

“…B-Bran,” he whispered.

“Bran,” Rahni repeated, “Okay, Bran, you’re probably very confused right now, but this is what’s happening: we’re gonna be running like hell from some bad people, and they will shoot at us if they see us. So… if we get jumped by them, run as fast as you can, in any direction, okay?”

Bran stared up at her, horrified, “ _S-Shoot-?_ ”

“Just run,” Rahni said grimly, “Right. Up we get.”

Without warning, Rahni took advantage of Bran’s stunned horror to pick him up. He squeaked, and she deposited him on the short bench at the front of the cart. It was uncomfortable, and slightly unstable when you only had one working good arm to hold onto the edge, but Bran clung on, woozy and tired and terrified.

Well, looked like his only option was to go with the flow. But… run? He could barely walk without feeling nauseously sick. How was he meant to-?

Bleifolg and Rahni sat on either side of him, wedging him in. In Bleifolg’s large hands, he held the reins, and with a sharp crack of them, the horse whinnied and broke into a swift trot, hauling the cart at a surprisingly decent pace through the village, along the solitary, dirt track that cut through the settlement and out into the rolling countryside.

And closer to the rumbling noise of combat, echoing over the hills before them.

**Author's Note:**

> So, since we don't get male Viera in-game, my response is to write a male Viera fic, obvs. SO! This is an alternative WoL to Aza, though I will probs work more slowly with this one haha still figuring him out and his full history and shizzle, but we'll see how it goes :3


End file.
